


Drunk in Love

by Trish47



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Celebrations, Dancing, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hand Touching, Jedi Rey (Star Wars), Light Angst, NOT a foot fetish, Oral Fixation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pamarthe (Star Wars), Pining, Port in a Storm, Senator Ben Solo, Soft Ben Solo, Wine, bacchanalian vibes, break the rules, foot washing, senatorial trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 13:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trish47/pseuds/Trish47
Summary: Senator Ben Solo and his Jedi guard Rey attend a traditional unity ceremony on Pamarthe to celebrate a newly elected senator. After participating in the creation of the planet’s signature drink, Port in a Storm, the pair are asked to a formal ball where they can indulge in the final product.





	Drunk in Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monsterleadmehome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterleadmehome/gifts).

> To my prompter: listen I don't know how I started with a Firefly prompt and ended up here, but I promise there will be references to Shindig in the other chapters. :)
> 
> My beta really came in when I was under the wire. Good grief, I love her.

Ben gripped one handle of the fruit-laden crate, keeping it at waist level so Amak Vinora would not have to reach his arms too far above his silvered hair. Age weighed on his already short frame, though one would never look at the Pamarthan and call him stooped.

"Up and over, young man," he instructed Ben, "on the count of three."

All around them, eyes of the celebrants watched as the pair of senators—one newly inducted, the other practically born into Galactic service—lifted the wooden container over the side of the circular vat to deposit bunches of fat, purple grapes. Pamarthe’s ceremonies were famous both on and off world, for the wines produced from them could sell for obscene amounts of credits, especially their infamous Port in a Storm. Though Ben thought the hands-on process antiquated, he would never express as much to his new senatorial colleague.

Once their crate was empty, Pamarthans and invited guests stepped up to the vat, tossing in their own bounties. Rows upon rows of beings, human and non-human alike, added their grapes and other bright, fragrant fruits until the wooden crucible became a sea of fresh-picked produce.

Vinora inclined his head to the darkening skies as if searching for a starting signal. During harvest time, the clouds swirled and crashed into each other like thunderous cymbals and the winds whistled their howling songs next to one’s ears. The fierce gales which gave the alcoholic drink its name, however, wouldn’t roll in until the end of the fermentation process some months in the future. 

Waggling his thick eyebrows, Vinora turned to the crowd and announced: "And now the women dance!"

Another tradition Ben had to stop himself from rolling his eyes over, solely for its gendered history. An itch in the center of his palm prompted him to glance back and locate Rey’s tall figure among those females gathered for the initial round of stepping. Her arms were crossed over her woolen tunic, lips set in a pout he didn’t need their curious bond to understand. He knew her well enough to recognize when she was not amused.

Across their connection, he heard the reason: _This doesn’t have anything to do with keeping you safe._

He hid his smile by peering over his shoulder at the waiting fruit. _It will keep me entertained._

She bristled, and the hairs on his arms stood erect in response. Ben’s gaze returned to her, mirth sparkling in his dark eyes over her agitation. Rey shifted from one bare foot to the other, drawing his attention to the ground. His eyes traveled up again without urgency, drinking in her long, powerful legs which were completely bare to the elements. In the six months since her appointment as his guard, Ben had often wondered if Rey’s sun-kissed skin continued beyond the exposed arms he saw whenever they sparred. Now his suspicions had been confirmed.

“What are you waiting for?” Vinora said, impatiently gesturing toward Rey. “Go get her.”

Heat blistered his cheeks, though, if asked, he’d only attribute the sudden blush to being reminded of his next ceremonial action; he’d never confess that Vinora’s word choice made it sound like Rey belonged to him. She most certainly didn’t. Even if her earnest eyes and the fragmented, yearning thoughts that occasionally slipped through their bond led him to think she might want him as badly as he wanted her, ancient rules acted as barriers to any impropriety occurring between them. 

One more reason the past, with its strict dictates and senseless traditions, should be left to wither.

The spongy ground beneath his boots sank and sprang back again as he approached Rey. Around them, music from stringed instruments and taut animal hides erupted in improvised style, at first discordant and chaotic before settling into a joyous melody. The quick beat mimicked the way his heart raced when he reached for her.

She gasped as one hand slid under her backside, just beneath where her tunic hit at her hips. The other curved around her back. “Your hands are freezing.”

“How are you so warm?” he countered, sweeping her completely off her feet. He had to be wearing double the amount of layers she was and still he felt Pamarthe’s chill.

Her fingers skirted across the nape of his neck, and Ben sucked in a breath. “Because unlike you, my pale prince, I’m hot-blooded.”

“Hot-tempered would be more accurate, no?” He hummed through his own joke until she flicked his earlobe and he swore. “Spitfire.”

She wriggled in his arms, pushing against his chest. She detested the nickname as much as he abhorred being called a prince, even in jest. More than once, Rey had been chastised for her quick anger and passion—things Jedi were expected to minimize because of the danger they posed.

Rey embraced them. Her fiery—Luke would call it obstinate—nature was only one reason he’d pushed so hard for her as his personal guard. Instead of reverent obedience to the Force, Rey maintained a steady dialogue with the intangible element weaving in, out, and around her. Ben had experienced similar tensions when he'd begun his training years ago. Though he'd learned to control his doubts, from time to time, he still felt the tug to explore his darker inclinations.

Like the one that swelled in his lungs as Rey pushed against him again, nails digging into his vest. He gripped her tighter, curling her inward until her ear was next to his lips. "Don't fight it," he murmured. "You might actually have fun."

Before she could so much as scoff in protest, he released her from his hold and dropped her into the vat. Rey shrieked, landing on her back. When she rolled over and pushed to her feet, Ben caught a glimpse of her underwear and almost regretted his decision to let go.

Some nearby men clapped him on the back with hands or their equivalent appendages, laughing bawdily as Rey threw daggers at him with her eyes. _You’re going to regret that,_ she pushed out to him as arms hooked through hers and dragged her toward the center of the commotion.

Just before she disappeared, he mouthed back, “You wish,” then joined in on the laughter, turning himself over to the contagious merriment. His role in the ceremony had ended; now he could relax and watch the twirling, stomping frenzy of the women’s wild dance. With a sweeping scan, he noticed a range of ages and heights skipping or high-stepping through the fruit with wide smiles. Some wore thin linens designed for the act; visitors’ thicker tunics stood out in the mass of moving bodies.

Ben’s eyes returned to Rey time and again. They tracked her through the throng, sometimes only catching glimpses of her tanned legs or a flash of her signature triple buns. Other times, she stepped around the perimeter of the vat, crushing the grapes with exuberant abandon and laughing with the other women.

Engrossed as she was, Ben knew saying he’d been right about her enjoying herself, vocally or mentally, would roll off Rey’s slender shoulders unacknowledged. Instead of basking in his ego, he rested his arms on the side of the vat and basked in her.

She was a sight.

With the fruit turning to liquid beneath the group’s feet, Rey’s movements became more feverish, as if drunk on joy and camaraderie. Her fists curled around the hem of her tunic, pulling it higher as she jumped and tramped in the burgandy slush. Her legs shone in the light, wet and ruddy from the fruit juices.

On a crescendoing note from the strings, it seemed as though the other female figures parted, leaving Rey at the heart of the circle. Her eyes were no longer lost in the chaos around her, but locked on him. Across the space dividing them, he couldn’t see the hunger in her gaze, but the slight pressure at the juncture of his neck and shoulder suggested her teeth were there and ready to make a meal of him.

He felt intoxicated without a drop of wine passing over his lips. If he didn’t take care, his control of his inhibitions—ever a challenge when Rey was in his presence—would slip beyond his grasp. Already he could feel her effect, breath hitching in his chest and heat coiling low in his stomach.

A phantom string tugged behind his navel before he ever heard her imploring command: _Come. Join me._

Though she hadn’t spoken a single word aloud, the humans and beings at his back took hold of him as if compelled, working together to lift his large frame from the ground. Hands shucked him free of boots and socks, leaving his trousers in place when his suspenders didn’t allow for their easy removal. Ben didn’t struggle against the brusque handling, for he wanted to do exactly as Rey asked. He wanted to go to her, to join her.

Instead, he was swept away in a wave of bodies as soon as his feet hit the bottom of the wooden structure. Hands gripped his own, yanking him to the left, then the right, splashing through the liquid until his clothes were soaked. Ben had the vague idea this was another type of dance, one where handholds changed and partners recoupled every few steps, faces meeting and retreating in the span of seconds. No matter where his feet carried him, his head continued to whip around, intent on seeking Rey out, but it seemed she’d vanished.

Then she was there, breathless and beautiful and right in front of him.

Scant inches separated their dripping bodies. The fragrant grapes mixed with the spicy, earthy notes he’d come to know as Rey’s scent; they mingled and wafted up from her wine-slick skin to entice his nose. Her lowest bun had come loose, and tendrils of hair stuck to the side of her neck while her other buns sagged. She tilted her face up, mouth open to help her catch her breath, a grin lighting her eyes.

His heart was equally as light in that moment—one which remained suspended in time as the world around them spun in his peripheral view.

Her hand rose, palm flat and facing him, waiting for its dance partner. Ben’s chest expanded and deflated with quick, shallow breaths as he lifted his hand to mirror hers.

Their fingertips touched before their palms kissed, sending a current of hot desire up his arm and down his spine. Rey swayed forward unsteadily, eyelids hooded and happy. Her fingers threaded between his, entwining their hands together as she pushed onto her tiptoes to bring their mouths closer. Ben’s head angled down to meet her lips--

They were forced apart by the celebratory dancers so abruptly it stole the breath from his lungs. A peal of laughter rang out over the lively music a moment later, and Ben ducked through a series of arms and other limbs to see Rey being spun around and around, pushed by each set of hands wrapping around the outside of the circle. In all the months they’d spent together, he’d never seen her so carefree and unburdened, never heard as much of her delighted laughter, never witnessed her in a moment of pure, unadulterated joy.

He’d do whatever was necessary to make sure this wasn’t the last time she’d experience or express any of those things.

Stuck on his thoughts and internal vows, Ben didn’t understand that the dancers were rotating Rey with a clear direction in mind: him. He was positioned near the edge where he’d tossed Rey into the vat, and when she finally whirled around to him, Ben threw out his arms in a semicircle like he was casting a net, snaring her within his loose hold and helping her coast to the gentlest stop possible.

“The world is spinning,” she reported breathlessly. Her hands pawed through the air until they managed to find his face, resting her palms on his cheeks. “Stop moving.”

“Close your eyes.” When she squinted to try and focus on his face, Ben placed his large hand over the upper half of her face. “It will help with the dizziness,” he promised quietly.

He could feel her eyelashes flutter against his palm, fighting the imposed darkness before finally submitting. “Fine.”

Drawing his hand away, he gave her another instruction. “Don’t open them until I say you can.”

To his surprise, she didn’t argue him on that point—perhaps because his first suggestion had worked to quell the nauseated feeling he’d sensed in her earlier. Ben steadied her with his hands, then braced them on the vat’s thick rim, pushing himself up and over the edge to exit the large container. Once he was safely on the ground, he turned and reached for Rey, guiding her arm over his head and gripping her side. Her hip bumped against the wood panel, but her eyes remained shut while he maneuvered her out of the wine vat.

Vinora offered him a grin and a nod, signifying their departure would not be seen as a slight, and Ben bowed his head in return. The woman in his arms adjusted herself, though instead of squirming away, Rey pressed herself closer to him. Along her legs, little bumps broke out as the wind picked up. She trembled, though Ben couldn’t say if his responding shiver was because she’d passed it through their bond or if it originated from within.

“Can I open my eyes?” she asked, rooting her forehead into his neck.

“Not yet.”

She tried another question while playing with the wet ends of his hair. “Aren’t you going to put me down?”

“Not yet.”

“Can you look for my trousers?”

He smiled and pressed his cheek to hers, the corners of their lips brushing. “Not yet.” 

A quiet huff blew over his Adam’s apple, but Rey’s good humor held further inquiries or protests at bay. Ben moseyed down the dirt path toward the copse of trees sheltering their rustic accommodations from the worst wind gusts. They couldn’t compare to Canto Bight’s grand suites or even the _Falcon_’s modest quarters, but there was a thatch roof and four sturdy walls to keep them safe, a fireplace to keep them warm, and a featherdown mattress to keep them comfortable.

They didn’t speak of rules and duties. They didn’t speak of consequences. They didn’t speak of the way Rey’s lips ghosted the shell of his ear or the way she moaned when his hand shifted to cup her backside. They didn’t speak of the future or of the past or even of what was happening in the present.

Ben opened the hut’s door with his foot, minding the cramped space so Rey wouldn’t knock into a wall or shelf. She didn’t seem bothered in the least, her fingers preoccupied with working open the fasteners on the front of his vest.

“I’m going to put you down now,” he told her, his voice too loud for the quiet room.

Rey sighed against his neck. “Not yet,” she echoed, kissing under his jaw. Her fingers abandoned their half-completed task and raked up the side of his face she’d neglected. Ben allowed her to align their features, bumping her nose with the tip of his own. “Please,” she added softly. “I’m afraid if. . .”

He’d stepped over to the bed and lowered her to its edge, but Rey refused to unwind her arms from his neck. For a moment, Ben stood with his back curled to satisfy her, but he really needed her to let go.

“Rey,” he soothed, framing her face in his hands. “We’re not finished.”

A droplet of water leaked from her left tear duct and slid down the slope of her nose. “I’m afraid,” she repeated, wiping the errant tear away before Ben had the chance. “If I open my eyes--”

She didn’t have to finish her sentence for him to understand. In closing off her sight, she’d slipped into a world where this was possible, where they wouldn’t be reprimanded and torn apart from one another if they were ever discovered. Once she let reality fill her gaze again, the spell would be broken. Ben understood the tremor in her bottom lip and the way she clung to his shirt’s back.

He couldn’t give her a long-lasting solution, but he could offer a temporary one: “Then don’t.”

Reaching around her on the bed, he felt for and found his folded lounge pants. The material was gossamer soft and flowed through his hand like a black waterfall. Without ceremony, he ripped one of the legs, creating a thin strip he used to wrap around Rey’s eyes, tying it in the back securely. Tugging on the fabric covering the bridge of her nose, he felt satisfied by his impromptu fix.

“There,” he whispered, caressing her cheeks with his knuckles. “Better?”

“Don’t go far,” she murmured, dropping her hands into her lap. Her tunic barely concealed the juncture of her thighs.

Permitted to rise, Ben quickly crossed the room and retrieved a basin, a metal jug filled with water, and a rough cloth. He returned with the items and set them on the floor, then knelt before her and poured the water into the shallow container. Prepared for her, Ben inched his fingers beneath her wine-stained toes and lifted her foot from the floor.

Rey gasped when he dipped her foot into the water, calf muscle tensing at the sensation.

“Too cold?” he asked, his free hand checking the temperature. While it could be warmer, the room temperature liquid didn’t seem too chilled for his purposes.

She shook her head. “No. Just a surprise.”

He hummed and wet the cloth, scrubbing it in one long swipe across the arch of her foot. If he hadn’t been holding her ankle, she’d have kicked him in the face. Ben paused and checked in again. “Too rough?”

Her voice hitched, and her hands clawed the comforter. “No. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Ben continued his ministrations, adding her other foot to the basin after attending to the first. He poured water over her calves, stroking bits of grape skin down into the bin, cleansing her legs as best he could without soap. Rey let her knees fall open, giving him space to work, releasing soft, contented moans when he massaged the muscles beneath her skin. While he thoroughly washed the lower half of her legs, he left her thighs untouched until the very end.

Setting the cloth aside, Ben shifted and braced his hands on the lip of the mattress, caging her within his arms. Even with the blindfold, Rey sensed his proximity and stiffened her spine to bring them closer yet. She was after his mouth, but Ben had other ideas. He bent at the waist, dipping his head into the wide space between her thighs. There, he skimmed his lips over her smooth skin.

Immediately, her legs clamped shut, trapping him between them as if he were an insect caught in the jaws of a carnivorous plant--except her inner thighs were supple and tasted of sweet, ripe fruit, a place he could happily die. 

Ben opened his mouth against her skin and licked away the remnants of her fruity romp. With each wet stroke, her hold weakened a little more, until she gave him full access.

Able to breathe again, Ben caressed his hands over her outer thighs and asked, “Too much?”

“No.” Her voice was a rasp. “But Ben--”

He froze at the qualifier, afraid he’d truly gone too far.

“--I don’t want anymore surprises.” As she said it, Rey peeled the blindfold down from her eyes and opened them to meet his.

Just as her fingers carded through his hair, a light knock sounded at the hut’s door. “Senator Solo?” a muffled voice asked.

Ben and Rey split from each other as if the Force itself had detonated between them. Rey pressed herself fully against the wall, drawing her legs into her chest, while Ben stood and backed up several feet.

“Are you there?” the voice asked again as Ben adjusted his vest and trousers, trying to hide the fact he’d become duly aroused while alone with his Jedi guard.

“Yes,” he responded to buy himself a precious moment. He combed his hair back and took Rey’s silent suggestion that he wipe his mouth and chin with his hand, then stepped to the door, finding Amak Vinora on the other side.

The old senator peered up at him in the fading light, squinting until wrinkles overtook his box-like face. “I hope you weren’t planning on going to bed quite yet,” he began. “Surely you haven’t forgotten the ball?”


End file.
